


smoke over water

by codedredalert



Category: One Piece
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Smoking, bonding over childhood trauma, mentions of canonical genocide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codedredalert/pseuds/codedredalert
Summary: Sanji smokes. Law, surprisingly, doesn't mind.





	smoke over water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lawsan day 2019. Thanks to [donutsandcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsandcoffee/pseuds/donutsandcoffee) for helping me beta at the eleventh hour. I still made changes after so any mistakes are on me.  
> Obligatory PSA/ disclaimer-- Smoking is bad for your health. Be smart, don't start. Thanks.

 

 

The crew was accommodating about him smoking, so Sanji did his best to be considerate too. He took his smoke breaks behind the tangerine trees, at the very stern of the Sunny where the smoke was whisked away by the wind as they sailed forth.

It was a good spot. He got to watch the broad wake of the Sunny break the waves, a sure sign that they were moving ever onwards.

This evening, as he walked through the small tangerine grove, it seemed someone had beaten him to it.

Torao-- Trafalgar Law-- was in his spot.

The guest captain was leaning with his lower back against the guard rails, twisted to look at the sunset, longsword tucked into the crook of his arm. He was all long, harsh lines and gaunt insomnia poorly hidden behind the bulky fabric of his hoodie, and he didn't eat nearly enough to appease Sanji's professional pride. He looked up as Sanji approached.

"Black Leg-ya." Law gave a nod.

Sanji hesitated for all of a second. The rest of the crew didn't stick around when he smoked, but this was Sanji's spot. If Law didn't like it, he could move.

Sanji leaned with his back to the guard rail, mirroring Law, a polite distance away.

"Hey, Torao. Mind if I smoke?" asked Sanji, already fishing his pack out of his pocket.

"It's your ship," replied Law, following Sanji's hands with his eyes. Was that amusement? It could be, but Sanji didn't know Law well enough to say.

"Just being polite." Sanji lit up, exhaled smoke that was instantly snatched away by the winds. "Chopper gets on my case sometimes if I smoke in front of him. Figured you might be the same."

"Tony-ya and I have very divergent opinions."

"Oh, really?" Sanji was surprised, but then he shouldn't have been. Law was hardly a poster boy for good health and wellness. Besides, smoking wasn’t exactly recommended for his own profession either, so Sanji hardly had room to throw stones. He held out his pack, the lit cigarette still in hand. "You want one?"

Law’s eyes flickered down to the pack. In a smooth motion, he reached out and took the lit cigarette from between Sanji’s fingers.

“Thanks.” Law lifted the stolen cigarette in a salute and placed it between his own teeth, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly. Sanji stared for a moment then shook his head.

“What was that?” he grumbled, tapping out another cigarette from his pack.

Law exhaled a small cloud of smoke.

“Your taste is expensive, Black Leg-ya,” said Law, and this time that was definitely amusement in his voice. “A whole stick would be wasted on me.”

“It’s not that expensive.” Sanji lit the fresh cigarette. Law ‘hmm’-ed noncommittally.

“The person I knew smoked dirt cheap stuff.” Law's gaze followed the wisp of smoke rising from Sanji's cigarette. “It tasted like cremation pyre ash. I haven’t found anything that tasted that bad since. The brand went out of business in 1512.”

That metaphor had been bit too specific and a thought came to Sanji’s mind unbidden. Law had escaped a genocide of a disease-quarantined city. The world government must have burned the bodies. Law would know exactly what the ashes of the dead tasted like.

“Can’t believe you still smoke if that was your introduction,” murmured Sanji, willing his stomach to stop churning.

"I don’t smoke. Just tried it once or twice, out of sentimentality.” Law tapped his cigarette against the Sunny’s guard rail and the ash flew into the water, exposing the burning red ember for a moment. “My home ship is a submarine. No one in the crew smokes."

An obvious change of subject. Sanji nodded. No more talk that hinted at the White City, then.

“Who were they to you? Your smoker,” asked Sanji. Law had used past tense. Sanji had noticed.

Law stared out at the water, dyed a bloody red as the sun lowered in the sky. As the moments stretched out, just as Sanji thought Law had decided not to answer, Law spoke.

“Hope, when I had given up.” Law closed his eyes, remembering. “I owe him everything.”

For a heartbeat, Sanji couldn’t breathe.

Somewhere in the East Blue was a colourful ship shaped like a fish, where the food was good but the service was shit because ordinary wait staff never stayed. The head chef was a notorious pirate, now retired. He had a wooden peg for a leg, he fed anyone who came to him hungry, and Sanji owed him everything too.

“Damn,” swore Sanji softly. Sanji didn't really want to get cried on by a man, and this would be a sob story for sure, but now he wanted to know. Law had said just enough to make him curious.

Still, sob stories were a good way to figure out how a person ticked. Law was an ally now -- on a permanent basis, if Luffy had anything to say about it-- but there was still the possibility that he might become the enemy some day. Or so Sanji justified it to himself.

"Wanna talk about it?" offered Sanji gruffly. Law took a breath and shook his head.

"That story is worth more than one cigarette, Black Leg-ya," he said, and there was a twisty, wry note in his voice. Sanji didn’t doubt for a moment that Law would ask for Sanji’s story in return if Sanji pressed.

Law finding out about the Baratie was… surprisingly fine. He didn’t seem the type who would go after Sanji’s people like that. Not with the way he talked about his own crew, and the memory of whoever his equivalent of Zeff was.

Law was sharp though. More than sharp enough to question why an ordinary young boy had the means to cross from North Blue to East Blue, and wind up starving on a rock with Red-Leg Zeff in the first place. There was no guarantee that Law wouldn’t ask what Sanji had been running from then-- was still running from now-- and that was something Sanji wasn’t ready to share.

Sanji let the topic drop. They stood in companionable silence as their twin cigarettes burned down in keeping with the sun dropping into the horizon.

It was… nice. Sanji's smoke breaks had become very solitary affairs since leaving the Baratie. The company was a bit nostalgic. Not that Sanji was terribly torn up about not hanging out with a bunch of old men anymore. Not when he was with his crew, especially the lovely Nami and gorgeous Robin. Company on his smoke breaks was a small price to pay.

Still, it was nice.

 

 


End file.
